


Found

by iamsmall



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Angst, Smut, Soft Arya, Teasing, post 8x03, the reunion we deserved, there is a bath involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsmall/pseuds/iamsmall
Summary: After the storm.The gods were cruel, and yet they gave him her.Post 8x03





	Found

**Author's Note:**

> So we are just going to ignore episode 4, okay? okay.
> 
> This is unbeta'd so there WILL be mistakes. So, beware but try to enjoy <3

Warm hands brought up and enveloped her body from behind, and if she didn’t know Jon’s smell, he would have been attacked.

Arya had been sitting by Bran’s feet in utter silence until she asked if he had known that she would defeat the Night King.

He responded, “Your story had always been about killing monsters,” and that she shouldn’t have been shocked.

Her body was in shock though.

“Are you-” Jon started, one hand still shakily grasping her while the other reached for Bran. “What happened?”

“Arya killed the Night King.”

She swayed on her feet as the words came out of her brother’s mouth.

Disbelief did not course through her. Of course she killed the Night King, but her body could not seem to comprehend the events. It was functioning unconsciously, stepping as Jon stepped, stopping when he froze.

Her mind kept drifting to all the dead she ran by on the way to her brother, and the smell of shit and bile that permeated the air.

It was all too much.

She was trained to kill, not to deal with the emotional aftermath that appeared to assault her once Jon returned and brought along her stupid and stubborn blacksmith.

Arya’s eyes shifted to the heart tree.

_She prayed that he made it._

_She prayed that she killed the Night King in time._

Adrenaline was still supposed to be pumping through her veins, but the cold air became warmer, the sun began to rise higher, and fatigue seemed to settle in her bones.

Glancing back to Jon’s face, Arya didn’t know if it read horror or awe behind the gashes, but he folded her into his caked-up armor, where she smelled more coppery blood and sweat.

“My baby sister is a hero,” he exhaled into her hair, kissing her forehead as her heart beat intensified.

She could feel him crying against her as he gripped her body, and Arya wanted too as well, but no tears came out.

“I’ll stay with Theon’s body until you send for someone,” Bran cut in, his voice monotone. “I’ll be fine now.”

Jon and Arya separated to see where their brother’s gaze was directed.

Sadness struck her as Bran said, “He finally stood for something he truly cared for,” but it was still not enough to feel water prickle at her eyes. “When we fix the crypts, we should put him in there as well or at least have a statue built in his memory beside Robb’s. He would be proud now.”

“Fix the crypts?” Arya turned to her younger brother, her voice hoarse and sounding entirely unfamiliar.

“He rose the dead everywhere,” Bran informed as both she and Jon spun to look at each other.

“Sansa,” they said in unison. _And the women, the elderly, the children, and the Queen’s advisors._

“-Is fine…” Bran started. “Many are dead, but she is well.”

Jon had taken a step forward, and Arya followed before taking a quick glance back.

“Go on,” Bran said. “It’s over now and the dawn awaits.”

She could have asked after the Hound and Gendry, but she couldn't bear to hear the answer if it was bad, especially not when she and Jon still had to walk past weeping soldiers and people who hadn't a clue if their friends or family had survived either.

As Arya looked around, the white snow that fell prettily nights before was soaked in crimson blood while the bodies of the Iron born were scattered in a protective ring around her brother.

When she glanced to Jon again, she knew he saw the same. So, he pulled her forward and out of the Godswood where they passed bodies, upon bodies, _upon bodies,_ that she could barely recognize with the dirt and soot masking their features.

She wondered if they should tell anyone it was her that defeated the enemy. She wondered if she should ask Jon, but he looked far away and nearly feral in the eyes as he took in the amount of death they climbed over.

“The Queen!” Some man yelled from on top of the walkway as they entered the courtyard.

Jon flinched before he whirled in the direction the man was pointing.

Arya pushed her brother forward and watched him run outside the gates before she searched for a recognizable face _, any recognizable face._

_His recognizable face._

Many moments passed with her scanning the mounds of bodies.

Lady Brienne had come up to her with Jaime Lannister and Podrick Payne in tow. The older woman had checked her cut and scanned her form for any other injuries despite Arya grunting protests.

After the blonde was satisfied, Arya toed herself away when she noticed Sansa running towards her. She had been walking beside the Queen’s advisors, their eyes surveying the damage as the sky turned lighter.

Arms immediately went around her. Arya barely moved again, but she sighed in content, whispering that both her and Bran were fine. She didn’t wish to mention Theon until they were alone, knowing her sister would not wish to cry in front of the people they refused to trust.

Sansa had relaxed into her for a moment… and then her sibling’s body went still.

Arya took a step back and turned in the direction of her sister’s scrutiny.

There was a gasp as Jon gripped the Dragon Queen from the front gate, shuffling her and her bloodied white coat inside as Ser Jorah Mormont was carried in by Tormund Giantsbane and the Unsullied Commander.

If anyone questioned the alliance between her brother and the Queen, they had their answer as Jon held her head to his chest as his ungloved hand stroked between her fallen braids.

Arya’s heart ached as she looked around again.

She couldn’t find _him_ , but she found little Lyanna Mormont’s corpse in the hands of a giant.

Her heartbeat picked up speed again.

Swallowing, Arya turned her body to Sansa who stared at their brother with what Arya hoped to be consideration since they were all chest deep in carnage.

A deep sigh came from the Imp and the Queen’s friend with the chocolate curls as the Unsullied Commander seemed to have just found the woman.

Arya’s mouth went dry.

“Where the fuck did you go?” the Hound appeared from the stairs to right with a furious look on his face that was directed towards her.

Arya respired.

She hated him but she couldn’t hide the quick quirk of her lips as he shoved someone out of his way to get to her.

“To kill the Night King,” she stated plainly.

He laughed in disbelief while he paid respects to Sansa who turned to her sharply with furrowed brows.

Her sister knew she wasn’t joking.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re a piece of fuckin’ work-”

Clegane was interrupted when who Arya had been seeking stepped into her line of vision.

His jerkin was a deeper chocolatey brown than the others and she could see his stupid blue eyes not noticing her until he lifted a plank of wood with Ser Davos' help by the gate.

He must have come in behind Jon and the Queen

Gendry dropped what he was holding when their eyes met.

Arya heard the old man curse and scold him.

“The fuck is ya lookin’ at?” the Hound huffed trying to get her attention, but her feet started moving of their own volition.

As her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath hitched, Arya realized that her body must have made a secret pact with his last night for she was drawn to him.

She could feel herself being pulled and with every step, the tether thickened.

Right before the battle had started, she’d watched him push his way to the vanguard. It was where he told her he was headed, and deep, deep, _deep_ down she wanted to argue him on it, but she knew she couldn’t. _She wouldn’t_. They were fighters.

When Gendry stepped around a pile of rubble, that was when she took off towards him.

Arya was hyperaware of Ser Davos’ confused expression, her brother looking her way from his position on the opposite side of the gate, and the Hound and her sister’s perplexed stares from behind her.

She didn’t care, because he made it.

When she crashed into him, she could feel his muscles flexing against hers as he picked her up. Underneath the blood, she could smell his scent of forge fire and a certain warmth in his musk that she could only gather came from his time living in the south.

Arya wrapped her arms around his throat before placing a hard kiss of unfiltered relief on his lips before letting her head fall into his neck.

Her eyes began to water as she felt him tremble while squeezing her.

It was stupid to think that someone as strong as him would go down that easy, but when the Dothraki’s firelit arakhs went out and the dead charged forward, it was hard to think anyone could survive.

“I’m still here,” he whispered to her and she wondered if she had said her thoughts aloud. “But your brother and sister are staring at us.”

“Ser Davos too,” Arya had opened her eyes to the stunned expression of her brother’s Hand. “Fuck them,” she continued before closing them again and gripping him further.

He chuckled.

“So, we survive and it’s fuck my life _now_ , milady?” She could feel his cheeks tugging against her neck and the moment of softness was gone.

Arya jumped down and made a face before hitting him. “Not funny,” she squinted as his smile widened.

Gendry jerked her forward once more, his hand coming to the back of her head where her braid had fallen from their night together.

He kissed her forehead and she felt tears finally fall.

She hastily wiped them away when they separated but he still saw because his thumb went to her cheek.

Ser Davos made his way over with her spear that she had misplaced somewhere in the darkness.

“I believe this is yours,” the older man said cautiously, holding up her weapon. “You fight like nobody I have ever seen. You took down so many of them up there.”

 _She took down them all_ , she wanted to say.

“It’s a decent weapon…” Arya shifted towards him as Gendry mouthed to her if she lost it.

She didn’t _lose_ it. She _misplaced_ it while trying not to get eaten.

“I suppose…” she continued as she grabbed the staff away from Davos testing to see how intact and sturdy it was.

The man must have put the two ends back together.

“’Decent?’ ‘You suppose?’” Gendry mocked. “Does nothing please you?”

Curving back to him, she quirked her eyebrow completely unabashed as her eyes flickered over his body.

He was covered in blood and ashes, and she should have been disturbed but it only reminded her of his strength.

Arya’s gaze flickered and she mumbled out, “ _What_?” breaking their moment, noticing a glistening red stone in the snow.

“What is it?” Gendry turned to look at what she had her eyes on.

“I saw the red woman earlier…”

“So did I,” he responded warily, following her movements.

“Is that her necklace?” Arya pointed forward with the spear, quickly glancing to her side to gather a lit torch.

“Arya, where are you going-”

Cutting Gendry off, she shoved her weapon to him before motioning forward.

“Is that her body?” she waved towards the red cape in the snow.

Gendry squinted and didn’t move any further, but Arya did despite hearing both him and her brother calling for her as she lit the woman’s remains on fire, throwing the necklace into the flames.  

Arya hated her but she could give respect because if it was not for the witch, they might all be dead.

Glancing around, Arya realized that although her home was in ruins, it was worse in the field. The air was rancid, and she could not move more than a few steps without her feet stumbling over dead men.

Gendry reached out to her as she neared him again, most likely without realizing.

As they walked, he gripped the sides of her doublet.

It was not until Jon stepped into her path that she stopped with Gendry nearly bumping into her from behind, probably looking down or anywhere there wasn't eye connection with people they knew.

The only thing good about the situation was that the fear of imminent death emboldened him to show the affection he had. She may not need it or want it all the time, but she enjoyed that he wanted to give it to her despite the fact they held a lot of attention.

“I don’t know what you wish to do with the rest of the bodies, but hers has magic. It shouldn’t be lying around…." Arya nodded backward to the first body burned post-war.

Jon went to say something but closed his mouth.

Her brother repeated the action, glancing around the castle, at Gendry, then her, at Sansa, at Gendry’s hand gripping her waist, and then back at Queen Daenerys whose eyes were bloodshot and staring at her in astonishment.

“Right,” Jon agreed.

Arya nodded again and turned to Gendry. His eyes were defensive and restrained as they filtered around the destruction.

“I’ll find you later,” she started, gathering his attention by snatching her spear away from him. “I want to burn Beric’s body as well or at the very least, find him and bring him out here myself.”

Gendry’s brows knit together.

“Alright.”

“Later… I-I’ll find you… I’ll be back,” she moved his hands from her before she leaned her forehead to his chest and turned away.

Arya jutted her finger to the Hound, avoiding her sister’s incredulous glare.

“You’ve got yourself a man?’ Clegane grunted, his lips curling in distaste as they marched past her sister and piles of dead people.

Arya couldn’t believe it was not the bodies that made the miserable shit cringe, but the idea that she was not a little girl anymore.

 _Well_ , she could believe it, but he was still a cunt.

“Fuck off," she spat, glancing back to see the ginger wildling pat Gendry on the back with a hoot of laughter as Davos inched his way towards her blue-eyed bull.

*

Winterfell was a disaster.

When Gendry first arrived, he marveled at the structure and the smell, or lack of.

It hadn’t smelled like horses and shit. Not when he first arrived.

Now, he had been moving the injured and sick to the Maester and gathering bodies to be lifted onto Pyres all day.

He had smelled nothing but shit, piss, blood, vomit, and death.

Sighing, he dropped to a partially broken bench to rub his face and take a break.

Exhaustion traveled through his body as frustration pumped through his veins.

Jon had looked both relieved and concerned when they had been assisting with the ill, but he hadn’t mentioned anything past the utterance of why he had never brought Arya up.

There had been no reason to.

Gendry wondered if he had noticed a bit of betrayal, but he was a bastard blacksmith that grew up in the slums. He didn’t matter _that_ much.

Sighing, Gendry looked up from rubbing his eyes to notice Arya leaning against the adjacent wall, her head tilted to the side.

A smile tugged at his cheeks despite his weariness.

As soon as the dead collapsed, Gendry hunted for her. He shifted through bodies, traveled the upper walkways of Winterfell, and anywhere he could go without fear that the building would cave in on him.

When he didn’t find her, he lost it for a solid hour.

Not once in his life had his tears burned down his face like it had when he could not find one trace of her or anyone that had seen her until Davos found him.

The old man had been clutching her staff in two pieces stating that she had run inside and that he saw the Hound follow after her.

And that was when Gendry could breathe again.

She might have ruined him because his heart felt as if it would pop out of his chest and his head felt entirely too consumed with images of her smirking at him, shoving him, and mirages of her face in complete ecstasy replaying on a continuous loop.

He knew she knew her home. So, he prayed as he had steadied his labored breaths.

“I’ve found you,” she said absently.

“Where you truly looking?” he stood, challenging her, feeling the weight of the day lifting from his shoulders.

It was almost sundown again and he had gone most of the day without seeing her.

“No, I suppose not,” she paused before offering her hand out. “Come with me?”

“Where?” Gendry controlled himself.

He didn’t feel like going back to the Great Hall to ingest the food he knew Davos was helping to serve and prepare hours ago.

“Did you eat?” he quickly added, wanting to make sure she had consumed something though.

“Bread,” was all Arya said.

“Same,” he nodded.

He had been offered a bowl of stew by her sister as well, but he couldn’t stomach anything. The smell of rot infiltrated his nose and made having an appetite agonizing.

“Come with me?” she asked again with heavy eyes. “I have to put something on this, or Sansa will have a conniption,” she waved towards the stitches above her right eyebrow.

Her face was clean, but her clothes were still a complete mess.

“A what?” he questioned with a frown firmly planted on his face.

“Fit,” Arya clarified offhandedly, completely unfazed, probably noticing the embarrassed shift he did on his feet. “My sister will have a fit… go mad or something…”

She began walking away from him and all he could do was look around for his cloak and follow.

They walked through winding paths, carefully avoiding the hallways where there were watchful eyes and nosy onlookers until they arrived at the corridor to the family solar.

Gendry sighed in utter discomfort, but she threw a pointed glare at him.

There were items in disarray as she waved him forward past a damaged door with a few blood stains.

There was a distinct clinking he hadn’t noticed until she held up a ring of keys. 

“Is this your chamber?” _Why was it locked?_

“ _Yes_.”

She pushed it open and it was relatively unsoiled.

Gendry noticed the staff he made her in the corner so she must have cleaned the room since the rest of the solar looked a mess.

“I shouldn’t be in here…” he started, snooping around and dropping his cloak as she put water to heat on a fire she must have made earlier.

The room was a decent size with a wooden tub a few feet in front of her bed and several away from the fire. On the table to his far left was a tray with what he assumed to be food and a sack with medicine spilling out of it.

“We fucked already so I don’t think it matters," she stated nonchalantly as she poured oil into the basin. “Also, we just survived the Great War,” she turned her back to him and started for the fire where she removed the pot and poured the hot water into the tub.

“First off,” Gendry started in a voice he felt was too strong. “It wasn’t just that… for me at least.”

Arya halted from refilling the pot from another bucket in a corner. “Pardon?”

“Fucking… It wasn’t just that for me,” he looked down from her gaze of confusion.

Swallowing, he rubbed his nose, trying to get the scent of whatever she poured into her bath into his nostrils to take away his smell of sweat.

Refusing to look at her, he only heard her clamoring around the room as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. 

Before the battle, she wouldn’t let him say that he loved her. They had only hurriedly dressed as the horn went off, avoiding eye contact.

Well, _she_ avoided eye contact while his heart was in his throat.

“If it was just fucking then you wouldn’t be here, _in my chambers_ , after we won the battle, when I could be with my sister and brothers,” she spoke quietly, perched against the tub before toeing her way over. “I could be mourning the dead…. but I want to celebrate that we are alive, that we both survived before everything goes to shit again.”

Her eyes were stormy and full of so many feelings.

People spoke about the daughter of Winterfell and how she had slit throats without blinking, how she cleared a whole line of Wights in protection of her home, how she was as silent as the shadows she lived in, and yet her presence was as loud as all seven hells.

They spoke of her coldness and how her eyes deceived no sentiments, but they were wrong because they didn’t know her at all.

Northerners knew her as Arya Stark of Winterfell, but she had so many more names than that, and he knew nearly all of them.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Gendry spoke, his voice raw as she pressed into him, rising to the tops of her toes, struggling to reach his jutted chin.

 _She could work for it_ , he thought before her arm wrapped around the back of his neck, drawing him down to where he could feel her next words ghost his face.

“You wear all your emotions on your face. I’m not an idiot,” she spat before falling back to her heels, uncurling her arms from around him with a roll of her eyes.

She walked back to the fire, pulling the pot and repeating her previous actions.

“I know that. I-” he stuttered as she glared at him.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to change the topic. “Did you kill the Night King?”

He watched her next moves very carefully. She hesitated on her left, sidestepped away from the tub to refill the pot before glancing back coyly, “Perhaps.”

“Arya.”

She froze, then cracked her neck and walked back to the fire with another pot of water. She licked her bottom lips and attempted eye contact, but her brows furrowed in response to his expression.

Gendry didn’t know what emotions his face contained, only that he heard whispers as he aided Jon all morning. Whispers were a terrible word for it in actuality; tales of Arya Stark the Night Kingslayer were quietly _screamed_ throughout the Great Hall.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she barked.

Her eyes were full of fury while his voice was nothing but gentle as he spoke, “ _So, I can tell you how proud I am, and how thankful, and how-”_

“No, I didn’t. So, will you shut up?” she said rapidly before giving him her back.

A smirk tugged at his cheeks.

For a person that claimed to be a fantastic liar, she was being shit at it.

“Are you trying to get me to be quiet?” he queried, finally moving forward after closing her room door.

“ _Yes_ ,” she bit, her face curling up into annoyance.

Stepping around the tub and to the fire, he took the pot and started dumping the steaming water with the glove he grabbed from her hands before she tried to step out of his space.

“How? How did you do it?” he probed as she continued to glare.

“I snuck up on him and stabbed him.”

It was silent save from the water falling from the pan he was holding as her body twisted to him to read his expression.

Her eyes were like last night’s sky; delicate, dangerous, and ferocious.

He dropped the empty pot to the ground with the glove before marching on her.

She took a pace back, bumping into the bed, and he beamed as she stumbled.

Reaching out, Gendry caressed her pink cheeks and bruised face and place a kiss to the center of her forehead.

“You’re not real,” he mumbled as he pressed her into him.

“And you’re the second person _I_ told,” she huffed into his chest trying to squirm away from the affection.

“Why wasn’t I the first?” he teased.

“Because I saw the Hound first and he annoys me,” her voice was muffled so he let go of her though she didn’t move despite her initial protests.

“So, you tell him that you defeated death” Gendry gave a light laugh.

“I have to keep him intimidated somehow,” she pressed her forehead to him but only for a moment.

Arya’s hands went to his jerkin and began unlacing it despite the look of confusion on his features. Her fingers made work at his doublet and breeches after she shoved his other layers off.

He supposed he should be complaining but her brows told him that she was concentrating at the laces above his groin a lot harder than necessary, so he supposed she was aggravated.

“Your sister keeps looking at me…” he mentioned with an arch of his eyebrows while she made a ‘tsk’ sound. “She never spared a look in the few days I was here before.”

“Maybe she thinks you are handsome,” she tugged at his pants, indicating for him to take them off.

“That’s not funny,” he pointed at the look of amusement displayed on her face. “What will you tell your family about us? I don’t want you to-”

“I will tell them you are my family too,” she interrupted as she started at her doublet. “Will that be a problem?”

“Probably,” he stated, still confused as to why he was taking his clothes off. He did it anyway because she was silently demanding it, though if she wanted to do something, she should be waiting until she slept, or he smelled better _at least_.

“But not for me,” he continued, muttering under his breath quietly.

“Then that’s all that matters,” she kicked off her boots, waving at him to do the same because his breeches were still on.

“I spoke to her anyway. _Sansa_. Unsurprisingly, she is a bigger problem than Jon,” she remarked wistfully.

Gendry threw up his hands at her casualness. “ _Jon_. Your brother that everyone says is the best swordsman in Westeros.”

“Yes,” she shimmied out of her pants, putting her creamy toned legs on display. “Jon might just kill you. Sansa will make your life miserable, but she said you seem nice.”

They both paused, staring at each other, partially clothed with faces full of exasperation.

“I’m not,” he whispered to her.

He was angry and sensitive; he complained a lot and could sometimes be rude and abrasive. Gendry could admit he was hardworking, but he had to be.

“You are right,” Arya nodded, pulling him from his daze. “You’re soft,” she smiled lazily.

“Am I?” he simpered down, treading towards her while she let out a quiet yawn that made the edges of his lips raise.

_She was pretty._

“Let me help,” he offered to remove the rest of her clothing as her eyelashes fluttered with tiredness, getting wet from the water gathering in her eyes.

“See?” she mumbled. “Soft,” she waved.

“Finish taking off your clothes too,” she said as she lifted her arms for him to yank her tunic over her head. “You are dirty and you’re not coming to my bed filthy.”

After giving her a stunned expression, Gendry’s eyes scaled her body for any more wounds and found nothing but bruising and some faint scratches.

In relief, he sighed as he pulled at her small cloths.

As she stepped out of hers, he relieved himself of his breeches and undergarments in one go as she moved by him.

“I would have taken you to the hot springs but-”

“Another time,” he drawled, trailing after her.

Arya motioned for him to get into the tub first, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to dirty up the water. He also didn’t understand how they would both fit.

“Will you just fucking get in? I don’t want to argue right now,” she grumbled, and Gendry gritted his teeth as he swung his leg over the basin and settled into the hot water.

Warm baths were a luxury for him, and he couldn’t help but sigh into the smell with his eyes closing, but he heard a fumble that took him out of his momentary contentment.

Arya looked to be laying out a sheet for them to step onto without tracking water everywhere before she handed him two cloths. When she finally moved in, she nearly overflowed the tub.

The water swished as she attempted to make herself comfortable across from him.

It was a futile endeavor, Gendry realized as she shifted from side to side, sunk lower then higher until she hooked her ankles around him as she found a spot between the gap of his calves.

She still wasn’t happy though.

No position seemed to be good enough until she settled on top of his hardening cock, her head falling into his neck where she just breathed until he heard the muffled sob he was waiting for.

Gendry pulled her closer until her body sagged on top of him. He played with the water around them, watching the heat radiate from the liquid until his hand reached the rags she left for them.

“Is it bad that I’m happy?” her voice was small but still strong. Gendry hadn’t heard this tone since she offered to be his family

Silence encompassed them for a few moments before he gave her shrug, dipping the cloth into the water.

If the utter relief he felt at her being alive and the feeling that nothing else mattered made him bad, then he was absolutely wicked because her and Davos were all that counted for him.

They were all he had.

He lifted the cloth and squeezed it over her alabaster skin, watching the water drip past the brown spots scattering her shoulders.

“I have Jon, Bran, Sansa, and you… _Fuck_ , even Clegane, and that is good enough for me.”

“No,” he whispered his answer, his other palm moving up and down her back, feeling the ridges of her spine as she curled further. “No, it doesn’t make you bad… I’ll hurt anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.”

“There are so many people dead and- You should have seen Sansa’s face when Jon told her Theon died, and Jon’s face as the Queen turned her back to him, and the Queen’s face when they took Ser Jorah Mormont and the Dothraki Commander’s body to be prepped for ceremony. And I was fine because I knew I had my family. I have you.”

Her blunted nails still found a way to penetrate his skin as he tried to soothe the emotions that she tried to bury out of her.

“Did you know that you were the second thing I thought of when the Night King fell?”

Swallowing back all sentiments, Gendry shook his head while trying not to choke on his heart.

“Why wasn’t I the first?” he attempted to joke, hoping his voice didn’t betray how overcome he felt.

“I was thinking about how many bodies would need to be burned or buried come sunrise.”

A sad laugh fell from his lips as he let more water from the cloth fall over her neck.

Gendry felt her intake a breath before pulling back.

Even with the dark rings around her eyes, she still looked beautiful to him.

“You look like you need to sleep for a moon,” his finger rose to poke her on the nose.

Exhaustion rendered her too slow to slap him away which placed an amused smile on his face.

“We don’t have time for sleep. We have another war with your step-mother,” Arya stated, deadpanning.

“Real funny,” he mocked, playfully slapping her cheeks twice.

Shoving him back, she stretched back for a rag that she ended up throwing in his face, before reaching out of the tub.

“I can get it-” Whatever _it_ was, Gendry offered, but her arse was already high in the air.

Instinctually, his hand went to it, prodding her to which she responded with a light yelp of surprise.

As she found the tray of hard soap she must have been searching for, she curved back to him with a mocking expression before she sat back down on top of him, offering a piece.

He took one the squares and lathered it up as she slumped forward again.

“You could have just taken a nap first,” he commented as he cleaned her neck.

“You would have left to help. You don’t look as tired as me.”

He was, but he also felt that if he didn’t make himself useful, then he would be gotten rid of. It was a hard mentality to break.

“I didn’t do as much as you,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, he knew. He didn’t need to see it to know that she did it, he just _knew_.

After sighing, Arya's hands started moving along his back, massaging the soap into his skin to remove the dried blood. She also wet his hair which proved to be dirtier than they expected since it was so short.

When the red residue fell from her dark tresses as well, they chuckled. He was careful with Sansa’s stitches while rubbing her eyebrows. He knew nothing was in them, but it made her smile because he was being stupid.

The air thickened as they moved to their lower bodies.

Gendry concentrated on being indifferent instead of interested and furious about her scars and focused on being gentle when he started at her womanhood. He offered to remove himself while she finished up, but her hand reached for his cock before he could even begin to stand.

She was a wild thing, he realized as she stroked him under the water.

Her eyes were shiny, but still, her brows arched in challenge as he thickened in her hands.

Groaning, Gendry let his head fall back, as her lips fell to his chest, her palms still working his length. He thought, that perhaps, if he didn’t tease her when he got to her breasts and bit the side of her neck when he pretended that she still smelled, she wouldn’t have felt so _vindictive_ now.

Her lips traveled to his neck, where she sucked knowing damn well it would leave a mark that people would notice, and then up to his lips where she pecked before standing and leaving the water.

Opening one eye, to watch her walk away, she gripped a sheet and began drying herself off.

“Are you going to stay in there?”

Both of Gendry’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice.

She had never sounded like she did now when they were younger.

Her voice was now smooth and melodic with raspy and gritty edges. There were no ridiculous pitches and no whines, only a low song-like challenge that would haunt his dreams.

“You’re so different,” Gendry’s eyes stalked up her covered body.

He understood that she was a woman, but there was something cold but undoubtedly real about her. _She was raw_. “-Yet the same,” he continued, standing and moving out of the tub.

She was still Arry. _Arya_.

She was stronger, if possible.

“Different enough to please some lord?”

Halting, Gendry glanced at her.

All of his emotions got stuck in his throat, but he was able to choke out, “You might have to whip him into submission,” before looking down.

His feet were frozen to the ground with surprise shooting up his body at her tonal change.

He felt stupid forgetting that she was highborn, and at the end of the day, no matter what type of bastard he was, he was still baseborn. And she still had her highborn family. And her highborn duties. And her highborn arrogance. And her highborn skin. And her highborn manners. And her highborn beauty. And her fucking highborn fascination with everything improper.

“With a frilly dress on?” she continued, her voice sounding far away.

Gendry glanced up from under his lashes knowing his face must have contorted into something unideal. “You don’t belong in frocks.”

He felt exposed still standing naked in front of her, though, she probably wasn’t even staring at him.

“ _You_ wouldn’t want to see me in a silk dress?” she inquired further, and Gendry could hear himself scoff.

“Not unless you wanted to be in it.”

“Are you jealous?”

His fists balled up.

“No,” he immediately denied, and then wishing he didn’t speak so quickly.

“Yes,” she stated in _that_ tone. That tone ruined him. It made him stutter and fumble. It made his heartbeat quicken and his chest tighten. He hated and loved it at the same time. “ _Yes, you are_.”

“If you knew the answer, why did you ask?” he snapped, raising his head to find her in front of him, holding up another sheet for him to dry himself with, with an unreadable expression on her face.

He snatched the fabric away from her and rushed to get rid of the water dripping off of him as she arched her brow again.

She backed away from him, one side of her lips raising and her eyes turning into a deep gray.

“Come,” she told him as she sat on her bed.

He laughed at her incredulously, shaking his head.

“Come,” she said more forcefully, and that was when he understood that she was instigating him.

Sighing, he walked over to her, annoyed, as she pulled him on top of her.

“Don’t ever be that stupid again,” she said with an irritated twinge in her voice. “You have nothing to be insecure about. I don’t care who you are, where you were born, how many coffers you have. I’m not leaving you. Just don’t ever make me wear a frilly dress… and take that scowl off your face.”

All he could do is stare at the transparency she bared just for him in complete and utter wonder.

Part of him could never accept that she was choosing him, because why him? But he knew not to question her because while he was stubborn, she could be worse and far more violent.

He was lucky, because the gods were supposed to be cruel, and yet they gave him her.

Lowering his body to her as she fell back, he leaned the majority of his weight on his left arm and used his right palm to raise her chin.

He placed a gentle kiss to her lips, silently thanking her.

When she smiled into it, Gendry realized that was more than enough.

Sighing in content, he tugged away.

Arya however, quickly grabbed him back in frustration, her hand going to his bum to press him closer again.

“What are you doing? Where in seven hells are you going?”

“You- you’re too tired, Arya,” he chuckled, sheepishly stuttering over his words.

She rolled her eyes with an annoyed sigh.

“That just means you have to do all the work this time,” she huffed.

A slow smile spread across Gendry’s face as he examined her determined expression.

“Do you think you are capable of that?” she inquired with such fucking arrogance that Gendry heaved back in disbelief.

“I should fuckin’ leave you right now and go pretend to sup with Davos. He won’t bully me.”

“You could but you won’t,” she remarked, her fingers traveling up his arms and down his front, leaving goosepimples in their wake.

Gendry sneered because his cock was hard, and she laughed because she was right.

She elevated her body to his and he pretended to look away every time she turned his face to hers, and she continued to fucking laugh until he pushed her back down with a low growl in his throat.

Fluttery feelings journeyed down to his stomach as she proceeded to giggle.

It was so odd to hear that sound come from _her_ but evoking it at every possible turn was going to be his mission despite it coming from his irritation.

Huffing, Gendry moved them higher in the bed.

Her hands went to clasp around his neck, but he snatched them away, raising them above her head.

“You’re brave.”

Their eyes connected when he heard her voice was breathy. He nearly choked when he noticed the lust in her grey orbs.

Desire shot to his cock.

Lowering his lips to her, he allowed one hand to keep her wrists restrained and the other to travel to her pink nipples.

He flicked it and earned a hiss before peppering kisses down her throat. He knew better than to leave a noticeable mark, so his lips lingered on her collar bone until she moaned his name.

His tongue glided along her skin, while the same hand that played at her breasts dipped lower to her center.

In replacement of his fingers, his mouth covered her mound.

She arched into him.

His tongue flicked over to her other peak as his fingers found her soaking slit.

When she mewled into his ear, goose pimples erected along his spine making him light headed and drunk off her arousal.

He slipped one finger past her folds and buried them deep inside her as his thumb massaged the nub covered with her dark curls.

Her body writhed under him as he slipped another digit inside of her while his tongue worked down the center of her body.

She squirmed against him and he knew that she was going to tremble as her he felt the center of her coil tightly.

Immediately removing his hand, he earned a venomous glare.

Gendry attempted to haul back while releasing her arms from his grip. However, she rapidly grasped for his face as her legs instantly wrapped around his waist.

He felt the wetness between her thighs coat his skin and it made him dizzy.

“Arya,” he groaned, letting his head fall between her breasts as she started rutting against him.

He let her keep grinding along his body while he griped at her waist until her breath started to hitch.

Grabbing her left thigh, he lifted to situate himself at her entrance.

When Gendry asked if she was sore from the previous night, she scoffed, so he just pressed in, burying himself into her.

He earned a hiss.

“Was that scoff supposed to be a yes or a no?” He was at the base of her neck, smiling as he heard her grit her teeth as a response.

He stayed still for a few moments so that she could adjust to his intrusion, ignoring his need to jerk into her until his balls tightened. He knew that if he started too soon, he would be gone too fast.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Fucking move. You know I can take it,” she grounded out, digging her nails into his shoulders.

His entire body was rapidly becoming her scratching post and Gendry didn’t mind in the least.

He slid himself out, entirely overwhelmed by the satin feel of her, and then snapped forward, basking in the sensation of her swollen pussy pulling him back with every thrust.

With every drive of his hips, he could hear Arya keen louder and hold tighter. As he grounded into her, her body responded, coating him just a little bit more as they rocked together.

He wasn’t rough, but the sounds of their coupling were bouncing off the walls of her chamber, and he’d never been happier to know that she was undeniably different from her family with absolutely no desire to feast on anything…

 _Except him,_ he supposed, as she tugged his face from what was growing to be his favorite spot, _behind her ear_ , back to her mouth where she traced his bottom lip with her tongue.

She had gotten indescribably better at kissing since she first pulled him down to her the night before.

Gendry smiled against her as she flicked her tongue between his lips, playfully biting his top one before they fought for dominance.

He let her win and she knew that because her mouth curled in annoyance. She, then, decided that clenching around him as he pushed into her was a good idea like he wasn’t two more thrusts away from spilling into her.

“Arya,” he cautioned, trying a different pace to see if she preferred that.

She hummed, mocking him until he slammed into her.

She rasped his name out, pulling him impossibly closer and Gendry knew she was almost there.

_Thank the gods._

“Harder,” she blurted out.

A carnal hunger burned within him as he complied pounding into her until her moans became groans, and her groans became pants, and her pants got stuck in her throat.

She stuttered out his name, hooking her ankles around his back, as her entire body tensed, tightening around him, coating his entire length with her.

His entire mind grew hazy as he drowned in her pleasure.

Gendry sputtered out her name, attempting to wrench back, but her grip on him was hard.

Lifting his head, he mumbled out her name to which she responded with her lips at his jaw, “ _I want to feel you fill me.”_

And he lost it.

His balls constricted and his cock throbbed as he jerked into her thrice more before falling into her chest as his seed spilled into her.

All he could feel as his vision faded, was her fingertips ghosting the nape of his neck as she snickered into his hair.

“Even when I’m under you, I still control the situation.”

Gendry could hear only her jests and the fire crackling as his heart pounded.

“You’re a shit,” he muffled shakily. “ _My shit_ , but nonetheless a _fucking_ shit.”

He knew she smiled.

“And you’ll need another bath,” he murmured tenderly.

She laughed and he didn't care what happened the previous day, or what would happen the next, because, at the moment, he had something worth it; worth living for, worth fighting for. And he refused to let anybody take her away and nobody could make him feel bad for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment. I'll love you forever.
> 
> Also, if you'd like, you can find me on tumblr at i-am-small.tumblr.com


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